Control the Wind
by The Undying Mongoose
Summary: AU postHBP. When a tragedy makes Theodore Nott realize that he's lost control of his life, he'll do anything to get it back...even work with his worst enemies. Rated for violence in later chapters. Please R&R! On hiatus.
1. Theodore

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. I am not J.K. Rowling, nor am I anyone else of significance.

A thousand thank-yous to my beta, Allie (dragonwings on Mugglenet Fanfiction), slayer of superfluous semi-colons!

_Control the Wind_

"You can't always control the wind, but you can control your sails." -_Anthony Robbins_

_Chapter One: Theodore Nott_

The high-security ward at St. Mungo's was the second-most depressing place in the Wizarding world, after Azkaban itself. Theodore took a deep breath before knocking on the intimidating door. A gruff voice on the other side demanded that he identify himself and his business. "Theodore Nott, here to see Roderick Nott," Theodore replied, putting as much condescension in his voice as he could manage.

The voice was silent for a minute before the door swung open. The guard on the other side- who looked like he was at least half-troll- told Theodore to go down the hall to the third door on the right, "and be quick about it." Theodore scowled at him as he walked past. _My father is dying, and you're telling me to 'be quick about it.' If I weren't in a hurry, you hulking half-blood, I would hex you so badly your own mother wouldn't recognize you._ It was an empty threat of course; Theodore wasn't stupid enough to hex an Azkaban guard when at least a dozen more were lurking in the rooms on either side of him. Hell, he wasn't stupid enough to hex an Azkaban guard, period- no matter how much he wanted to. He'd leave things like that to dolts like Gregory Goyle or Vincent Crabbe.

The third door on the right had another guard in front of it, just as troll-like as the first one. Theodore gave him his name and business before he asked, and the guard let him in. Theodore pushed a stray piece of stringy brown hair behind his ear as he entered. It didn't matter very much now, he supposed, but he couldn't bear the idea of not looking presentable in front of his father.

Roderick Nott was lying in the bed with his eyes closed. His skin was unnaturally pale, to the point that he looked almost blue, and his hands were twitching. Theodore stood beside the bed, unsure of what to do next. "Father?" he whispered. "It's me."

"Theo…" Roderick's eyes slowly opened to look at his son. "It's good…to see you." His voice was weak, so unlike the commanding tones Theodore was used to hearing.

"**Look at him, Theodore! Take a good look! This is what happens to a man who lets someone else control his life! If this ever happens to you, Theo, you will no longer be my son. Remember that!" **

Theodore shook his head to clear it. _Not now… _The memories had faded away several days ago; this was not a good time for them to be coming back. "It's good to see you too, Father," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible." Roderick managed a weak smile. "At least…at least it will be over soon."

"Don't say that, Father." Theodore took Roderick's shaking right hand. "The Healers will get this figured out, and you'll be fine. Don't…"

"If you say 'don't worry,' I'll disown you," Roderick whispered, albeit harshly. "I'm dying, Theo. There's nothing the Healers can do. I've been poisoned."

"What?" Theodore could feel cold anger rising inside him. He forced it back down. "How can you be sure?"

"I'm sure. Theo…I've lost control. I'm sorry." He closed his eyes again. Theodore leaned in closer and squeezed his father's hand tighter.

"Father? Father, don't go. Not yet. Please, stay with me," he pleaded, fighting the tears that threatened to well up in his eyes. "Father?"

Roderick would not open his eyes again, but he spoke; quietly and urgently. "Get out of this mess, Theo. Get out of it before you have no control left. Don't disappoint me."

"Yes, Father," Theodore said obediently, as he had so many times in the past. He didn't have to ask to which mess Roderick was referring; only one tangled, complicated mess had threatened the Notts' control over their own lives.

"Go to your uncle Xavier. He can protect you. And Theo…"

"Yes, Father?"

"I love you." Roderick let out one last breath, and then he was still. Theodore swallowed his tears and strode out of the room, keeping his head high.

"He's dead," Theodore told the guard outside. He swept past the troll-like man without waiting for a reaction. He had to get as far away from St. Mungo's as fast as he could before the emotions he was hiding started to get the better of him.

"**Don't you dare start crying, Theodore. Notts never cry in front of anyone. Never." **

_Shut up,_ Theodore told his uncooperative mind. _Just shut up._ He hurried down the corridors of St. Mungo's, ignoring the Healers he bumped into on his way.

Draco Malfoy was waiting in the alleyway outside of St. Mungo's. Theodore froze when he saw him. It was too late to pretend that he didn't see him; the two boys had already locked eyes. Theodore forced himself to walk towards Draco, hating that self-satisfied face with its perpetual sneer and features that had all the Slytherin girls (and a few of the boys) falling over him, with every step. "What can I do for you, Draco?" Theodore asked, keeping his tone cordial and neutral.

"I heard about your father. Pity," Draco said, though his voice made it clear that he thought it was no great pity at all. "Azkaban can be very…dangerous to one's health, especially at his…_advanced_ age."

Theodore ignored the jab at his father's age; he'd heard plenty of them, especially when his mother was alive. "Speaking of Azkaban, Draco, how's your father doing?"

"Fine," Draco said through gritted teeth. It was obvious that Draco didn't want to be there; it hadn't been his idea, Theodore was sure of it. And Draco only took order from one man lately.

"So, what does Voldemort want with me?" Theodore asked, glancing around to make sure there were no wizards nearby to overhear.

Draco winced when Theodore said the Dark Lord's name; it was barely noticeable, but Theodore picked up on it. His father had winced the same way any time Voldemort's name had been mentioned. It was a disgusting, servile reaction, and Theodore had long ago promised himself that he would never be afraid to speak the name.

"He wants to know - now that Roderick is dead- if you're still loyal to him. Your father was one of his most faithful servants, you know, and he needs…assurance that you will follow in his footsteps."

_Assurance._ Theodore knew exactly what sort of assurance Voldemort would want from him: absolute servitude, kissing the hem of that monster's robes and cringing at the sound of his voice. He'd seen it often enough in the look on his father's face after Roderick returned from a meeting. Theodore could feel the bile building in the back of his throat as he tried to envision himself groveling before the feet of his father's "master." He wanted to tell Malfoy to go jinx himself, but that would do nothing but provoke him and his allies. And he could _not_ afford to do that. With his father gone, any protection he had as the son of an influential, even when imprisoned, Death Eater was gone.

"Tell Voldemort he'll have his assurance tomorrow. I have to see to my father's affairs."

Draco stepped forward so that he was only a few centimetres away from Theodore's face. "I'd watch myself if I were you, Theo. You're _nothing,_ only a minor supporter with no real influence. I, on the other hand…" As a way of completing his sentence, Draco rolled up his sleeve and covertly displayed the black brand on his arm. Theodore tried to hide his look of disgust.

"You'd better get one of these soon, or the Dark Lord might start thinking you're a liability. After all, we don't know how much your father told you…" He pushed his way past Theodore with his usual arrogance, tossing back one last comment over his shoulder. "If you _don't_ contact us after you've handled those pressing 'affairs,' things could go very badly for you."

Theodore made his way home in a furious haze, wrestling with the feelings of disgust, grief, and anger that were close to breaking through his calm exterior. He'd been tempted to challenge that insufferable prick to a duel right there and just end it; an uncharacteristic temptation. Theodore had never been particularly quick to anger, but his emotions were understandably on edge. He had to be careful, especially with wizards like Draco Malfoy trying to take advantage of his weaknesses.

The encounter with Draco had only confirmed what Roderick Nott had told him; Theodore was not in as much control of his own life as he wanted to be. In fact, his life was very quickly careening out of control, and if Theo didn't do something very soon he would have no more power over his own destiny than his father had. He could not let that happen. Voldemort would have his assurance, all right- assurance that any power he'd had over Theodore had died with Roderick.

Theodore forced the door to the Nott mansion open with a flick of his wand. As the slam of the door faded away, Theodore could hear the sound of house elves scurrying away from the sound. He shuddered. Theodore supposed it was irrational, but he couldn't bear the idea of house elves; they reminded him too much of Death Eaters.

There were very few things in the Nott mansion that had any real value to Theodore. Most of it was just junk inherited from various relatives over the years. Theodore took two photographs from the walls on his way up to his room, but left most of the elaborate portraits and ugly vases where they were. There wouldn't be room for them at Xavier's house anyways.

Theodore's room was organized in a disorganized sort of way. It was the only room entirely untouched by elf hands. When he was eight years old, still emotionally recovering from the death of his mother, he'd thrown a very heavy book at the house elf that was cleaning his room. From that day forward his father had forbidden the house elves from entering his room, so that Theodore would learn to appreciate having someone clean up for him. The plan had backfired; Theodore realized that he liked not having anyone else touching his things.

Heavy tapestries depicting scenes from Wizarding history in vivid shades of reds and blues hung on the walls, making what would have been a spacious room seem enclosed and secure. Theodore scanned them before choosing his favourite—a dramatic rendition of Salazar Slytherin's departure from Hogwarts School—and removing it from the wall. He waved his wand and silently willed his trunk to come out from under his bed. The tapestry was the first thing to go in, followed by his books for Hogwarts (along with a few for personal reading) and an assortment of robes. The two photographs he'd taken from downstairs were placed carefully on top.

There was one more thing he needed to get. Enchanting his trunk to follow him, Theodore left his room and locked the door behind him. He felt no regret at leaving the mansion behind, although he did wish he had room in his trunk for a few more books. He directed the trunk towards the door, and shouted at the unseen but ever-present house elves that no one was to be let in until he returned. _If_ he returned.

Roderick Nott's private study was a small and insignificant room near the entry hall. Theodore hesitated before entering- he hadn't been in there since his father had been sent to Azkaban, and even then, he never went in without his father's permission. _Father's dead,_ he reminded himself. _I'm the master of the house now, and I can go wherever I wish. _He pushed the door open. It smelled clean, the house elves must have been there recently.

Theodore reached under his father's desk and felt for the slightly raised bump that was the trigger to the secret drawer. Any of his father's friends would have laughed at this Muggle tactic, which was exactly the reason Roderick used it.

"**They're blind to anything they don't respect. It's fine to hate, Theo—I expect you to—but never lose respect for the people you hate. That's when you lose all control of your hatred." **

The drawer sprang open and Theodore removed its contents. He wouldn't trust his trunk with this; he tucked it into an inner pocket of his robes. The door to Roderick's study clicked shut behind him as Theodore walked for the last time across the entry hall. He couldn't remember a time when the hall had been this quiet; it seemed that there was always someone at the mansion, a friend or a business associate of his father's.

"**Please, Mr. Nott, give me another chance. Just another few days, and I'll have it for you. That's all I need, just another…few…days."**

"**Silence, you pathetic little worm." **

Theodore put his hands over his ears, as if that could somehow block out the memories. They seemed to have a way of popping up just when he couldn't deal with any more stress in his life. _I'll deal with this later. Just keep in control long enough to get to Uncle Xavier. Then I'll deal with this._ Whatever forces were wreaking havoc with his subconscious seemed to listen, for his mind quieted again. Theodore grasped the handle of his trunk and walked out the door, leaving his home for what would be a very long time.

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	2. Perivale

I've had this chapter hiding on my computer for ages, but I never uploaded it because I got caught up with reading DH. And, as of book 7, this story is now very AU. It's canon-compliant up to and including HBP. Oh, and as you probably know, I don't own Harry Potter.

A big thank-you to my reviewers: rekahneko, Tsona, igorawr, Gabwr, and novitas! I didn't expect to get five literate reviews for a story focusing on a minor character, so I thank you for making me feel so loved.

Once again, my humblest gratitude to my beta Allie (dragonwings on MNFF), for catching timeline errors, killing clichéd lines, and just generally making my writing better.

If anyone can catch the oh-so-slight Doctor Who reference in this chapter, they get an imaginary cookie.

_Chapter Two: Perivale_

Theodore stepped off the Knight Bus and gave his surroundings a furtive glance, trying his hardest to look as inconspicuous as possible. The last thing he needed was to look suspicious. It seemed that behind every curtained window hid a Death Eater spy; ready to kill him the instant they knew he was there. His fear was irrational, of course; the suburb of Perivale was probably one the most primarily Muggle places in Britain. All the same, Theodore couldn't help pulling his hood lower to hide his face as he scanned the house numbers.

Number Seven was a neat white house that looked exactly like all the other neat white houses on Aldred Drive, but only at first glance. Upon closer examination, Theodore noticed that the grass in front of Number Seven was wilder and slightly untidier, and the flowers on either side of the door had been violently uprooted. A small wooden sign nailed to the door read simply, **If you're trying to kill me, go away**.

Theodore took another look at the surrounding houses, which cast eerie shadows in the early evening light, before knocking firmly on the door with as much conviction as he could muster. There was a loud crash from inside, then the sound of someone shouting.

"Dammit, Merc, watch where you're sleeping! I'm coming, just a minute!"

A cat inside the house let out an ear-splitting meow, and there was a loud thud that sounded like the house's occupant had run into a wall. The door opened just enough to let the tip of a wand poke out.

"Who's there?" the owner of the wand demanded. "What do you want?"

"Xavier Ward?" The voice answered in the affirmative. "I'm Theodore Nott…your nephew. I was wondering if I could talk with you?"

"Nott?" the voice growled. Theodore got the distinct impression that his uncle—assuming that it was his uncle—wasn't fond of the name. "Pull out your wand and put it down on the step. Nice and slow."

Theodore did as he was told.

"Now, what do you want?"

"I told you, I need to talk with you."

"You really Sandy's son?"

_Sandy…_ Theodore hadn't heard anyone call his mother that for years, not since her funeral. Only Uncle Xavier had ever called her that, a secret joke that only two siblings could have. Everyone else always called her by her proper name of Melisande, or if they were very good friends: "Mel". Melisande Melinda Ward Nott…that was what it said on her gravestone. Theodore remembered staring at the cold stone marker on that gloomy day, his eyes continually tracing the path of letters engraved on it.

"Yes, I am."

"Did Roderick send you? What does he want?" Xavier spoke Roderick's name with a level of disdain that Theodore hadn't even known was possible.

"No, my father didn't send me. He's…he's dead." Theodore felt his voice catch on the words.

"Oh. I'm…erm, I'm sorry." He didn't sound particularly sorry, but Theodore ignored the insincerity. It didn't matter whether anyone else in the entire wizarding world mourned Roderick Nott—chances were, no one would—as long as Theodore followed his father's last request, he knew that Roderick Nott would be at peace. Which involved convincing Xavier to let him inside.

"May I come in? Please?"

"Give me one good reason why I should let you in."

Theodore still couldn't see anything of Xavier other than the tip of his wand, but he could sense that the older wizard did not trust him in the slightest, and was not about to open the door without a very good reason. _And he's completely right not to trust me. I'm the son of a Death Eater, I haven't seen him for ten years, and he has nothing but my word to assure him that I'm not here to kill him,_ he thought grimly. The world was, after all, at war. It was time to play his trump card.

"I have information for the Aurors," Theodore said in a low voice, moving his hand to the pocket of his robes. "But I need help. I can't just go to the Ministry. And once I hand this over, I need somewhere to hide from…certain unsavoury individuals. I couldn't think of anyone else to go to." He was going to add, 'And my father told me to come here,' as an afterthought, but so far Xavier had proven to be rather hostile towards anything and anyone related to Roderick Nott.

The door opened a little wider. Theodore could see one dark eye peering out from behind the wand. "What sort of information?"

"The sort of information people die for. Please let me in."

Finally, the door opened. Theodore had been expecting to see the scrawny, sobbing fifteen-year-old he remembered from his mother's funeral; what he saw was a haggard man in his mid-twenties with bags on his eyes and an Auror badge pinned to his chest. Xavier was gripping his wand so tightly that his entire hand was turning white. "Erm, come in," he said, keeping his wand aimed at Theodore.

Theodore stooped to pick up his wand, keeping his eyes on Xavier. There was something about his uncle that was reminding him of Professor Moody, the teacher who turned Draco into a ferret during their fourth year. The hunted look that was always present in Moody's eyes was now echoed in Xavier's. _Aurors have authorization to use Unforgivables now, _Theodore remembered. _He can kill me with the slightest provocation._

"Planning on staying for a while?" Xavier asked, eyeing Theodore's trunk.

Theodore shrugged. "Like I said, I need someplace to hide. Unless you can think of some other way to keep me from getting killed." _Not that I would listen to_ your _advice_, Theodore thought.

"Right. So, what's this information you've got?"

Xavier was clearly not one for equivocation. Theodore shut the door behind him and slid his wand up his sleeve, into the dueler's pocket he had sewn into all his robes. It only took a twist of the hand to release the wand from the pocket which was designed to save precious seconds during a duel to the death. Roderick had insisted on the pocket back when Theodore had first learned how to duel, a measure Theodore thought was unnecessary. Looking at the dangerous look in Xavier's eyes, Theodore began to revise his opinion of the precaution.

Rather than immediately produce the contents of his inner pocket, Theodore sat down on a somewhat rickety chair near the door and covertly glanced around. The small house was cluttered and in need of dusting, though that was to be expected. Aurors had to work long hours during times of war, and cleaning was probably not high on their list of priorities. Theodore leaned back in the chair and tried to look as nonchalant as possible under Xavier's fierce gaze.

**I don't care if you're scared out of your mind, Theo! The minute you let your opponent know it, you lose all control of the situation. Never let them know you're nervous.**

"My father was a very organised man," Theodore said. "He never left anything to chance. Everything was written down, everything was planned out. Even when it was dangerous to do so." He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out the aged leather book he had taken from his father's desk. "For the last thirty years-- ever since my father joined the Death Eaters-- he has kept records of every act they carried out in their master's name. Every threat, every torture, every murder. There are entries after Voldemort was defeated, as well; " He noticed Xavier cringe at the mention of Voldemort's name. _Coward,_ he thought harshly. He had no patience for those who could not take the name seriously. "If any of them had found this book, they would have killed him years ago, instead of this morning."

He handed the book to Xavier. The Auror turned it to a page partway through and read aloud, "'The first of November, 1980. V. defeated. Dead? Not sure. L. Malfoy came to mansion, reminded me of plan.' 'The third of November, 1980. Ministry came to mansion. Faked Imperius per L.M.'s instructions.'" Xavier stopped and looked at Theodore. "Do you realize that if we'd had this a decade ago, we could have put a lot of people in Azkaban?"

"Including my father." Theodore tried to gauge his uncle's reaction to Roderick's ledger as Xavier flipped disbelievingly through the pages, pausing every now and then to read a piece out loud. He clearly thought that the information was valuable, but would it be enough? _I don't have another plan…if he won't help, Draco is going to kill me._ And it _would_ be Draco, Theodore was sure, that Voldemort would send to kill him, probably as some sort of twisted reward. Draco and a couple of brainless hulks to back him up, because Draco never did anything alone.

Xavier had reached the most recent entries, the ones just before Roderick's arrest. "'Warning to J. Green—R. Vaisey and self…Elimination of K. and M. Stewart—L. Simon, G. Goyle and self…' This is incredible. Absolutely incredible."

"Then will you help me?" Theodore asked. "If I don't give him 'assurance of my loyalty' by tomorrow, Voldemort will kill me." Xavier cringed again. Were all Aurors this weak? "Can the Ministry protect me?"

"Well…" For a split second, Theodore could see the awkward teenager from his mother's funeral in his uncle's face. "To be honest, I'm not entirely sure of Ministry protocol for informant protection—it's not something we've used a lot—but I'm sure there must be something. They wouldn't just leave a sixteen—no, you're seventeen, right?—a seventeen-year-old boy to fend for himself."

_Sure, they would._ Theodore remembered the Aurors who had come to the mansion when he returned home from Hogwarts, after his father had been arrested. They hadn't cared that Theodore was fifteen and newly parentless; all they saw was the son of a Death Eater, just an inhuman Slytherin brat. They'd interrogated him ruthlessly for hours until they finally concluded that Theodore had, in fact, known nothing about the attack on the Ministry. _They'd throw me to the wolves if saving me wasn't convenient. But I don't have any other options._

Just after that rather depressing thought had crossed his mind, a large ball of black and white fur bolted down the stairs and leapt into Theodore's lap, throwing him momentarily off-balance. Theodore stared down at the cat that was now gracefully draping itself over his legs.

"Merc! Get off him!" Xavier commanded. The cat ignored him and closed its eyes. "Mercutio, I said get off!"

Theodore scratched behind the cat's ears. He'd always liked cats; they were independent creatures, not passive like dogs or house elves. Mercutio purred his gratitude for the attention.

"Bloody useless, that cat," Xavier muttered as he leafed through Roderick's ledger again. "Does nothing but sleep and eat, and jump on you when you don't have the time."

"Sounds like a lot of people I know," Theodore said, more to the purring cat than to his uncle. "Is there someplace I could put my things?"

"Upstairs, second door to your left. Guest room. Merc's been using it for his own private suite, so it might be a tad hairy, but it should do for now. The toilet's just next to it, if you need to wash." He was reading a page back near the beginning of the book, during Voldemort's rise. Judging by his expression, Theodore guessed that he was reading about the incident with V. Michaels. That part had been enough to make Theodore feel sick also when he had read it.

As he lay on the cat hair-covered bed in Xavier's spare room, Theodore realized that it had only been a few hours since his father's death. The bus ride to Perivale to his negotiations with Xavier had only taken a few hours. It was remarkable how fast a person's life could change.

Theodore stared at the ceiling as emotions raged inside of him, each battling for his full attention. But, as he reflected, he wasn't scared of the Death Eaters or the Ministry. Rather, it was the uncertainty of his future that worried him the most. His life was entirely in the hands of his blood-traitor uncle, and if Xavier decided to wash his hands of him… well, there was nothing Theodore could do about it. It was an absolutely sickening feeling.

"I am never depending on anyone again. Once this is over—assuming I'm still alive—I am never going to let this happen again. I can't stand it," he murmured aloud.

He could hear the sound of Xavier's voice from downstairs, punctuated by the crackle of a fire. He was talking to someone from the Ministry, presumably, but Theodore couldn't make out what he was saying. _I expect I'll find out soon enough._ Even if Xavier did support him, would the Ministry? Would they waste their time to protect a Death Eater's son?

Mercutio leapt up onto the bed and curled into a ball on Theodore's leg. Theodore tried to shoo him off, but it was clear that the cat was not going to budge. Cats were predictably stubborn that way, unlike humans, who were both unpredictable and easily swayed. If people (wizards in particular) were a bit more like cats, the world might not have as many problems as it did.


End file.
